Walburga Black
by Agnes Acacia
Summary: A quick glimpse into the world of Walburga Black. Her thoughts, her feelings and the events that brought about Sirius's estrangement.


Walburga Black

" _Master Sirius ran away, good riddance for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress's heart with his lawless ways" -Kreacher (DH10)_

"He looked just like me," the old woman says, studying his portrait, the one she keeps hidden behind a black curtain. The child's eyes are a gray storm, so much like her own, its as if she is looking into a mirror, but no. The mirror is dirty and cracked now, her face sunken and not so beautiful as it once was, as he once was.

"Kreacher," the old woman says, "bring me my looking glass."

"You've broken them all, Mistress," the house elf croaks from her knee.

Walburga frowns and closes her eyes. She wants to see those eyes again, the spark she saw in her oldest son. It was always there, even when it wasn't, it was. She shakes her head.

"Ah, yes," she says quietly, remembering. It was that horrible day. The day she saw his face in the papers, laughing, that same manic laugh that she both loathed and loved. The words below his picture, oh how it pained her to remember… but yes, she remembered. She remembered the sharp sting of betrayal. Not him too. He, who she had held out hope for. He would return. She knew he would, one day, when the war was over, she'd see her son again. But alas, he turned out to be the biggest disappointment of all. And it was all her fault.

Sometimes she would close her eyes and relive his birth. Oh, the agony of it, the tearing the pulling the screaming, but followed by the sweet pain of release, the sweet warmth of his small writhing body pressed tightly against her breast. God, how she wishes she could go back to those moments, the simple ones, and relive them. How she'd love to count his toes, nuzzle his nose, back when he was little and open and pure.

None of them were pure, not anymore. "Filthy," she says out loud, her voice is cracked, like the mirrors she broke those years ago.

 _Turjors pur._

He really was the most beautiful child. Everyone said so. He would have made a fine husband to Arabella Parkinson. If he weren't so difficult, if he weren't so much like herself.

"Did you know I didn't want to be a mother?" the old woman asks Kreacher. "I didn't want to do it at all. I was forced into it, and being a good pure blood, I did my duty. I did my duty, why couldn't he have just done his?"

She pleads with the old house elf, as if he knows answers she does not. But the truth is that she wanted more for Sirius. She wanted more for him, that is why she put up with him for so many years. He was such a naughty child, always into mischief. She'd get an owl every other week from Minerva McGonnagal, that wretched women. It was those miscreant friends he hung around with. She couldn't bring herself to blame her own son, when she knew, she _knew,_ he was behind it all, because a mother always knows.

 _"_ _Oh, but Sirius, why don't you spend more time with Arabella Parkinson? She's a good match."_

 _"_ _Because she's a cow, Mother."_

Oh, the way he'd speak to her, as if he hadn't a care in the world that she was Walburga Black, a witch who brought many a man to their knees, a witch who was so frightening in her skill and her beauty that even the Dark Lord himself had once sought her favor.

She closes her eyes and it brings her back.

He really was the most beautiful child.

From the moment she first felt him stir inside her, that tiny fluttering, bubbling, twitching little feet… her heart has swelled with such feeling, such love. It was a foreign feeling. There had not been many moments in Walburga Black's life where she had felt love.

Not many who'd known her before would have thought her a maternal woman. She was always a bit cold, a bit too much like her own mother, who barely touched Walburga and her two brothers. Irma barely touched anyone, not even her husband whom the woman clearly adored above all others, even her children. Even as a child Walburga knew that Irma Crabbe clung to Pollux's blood status like it was a lifeline. Not a true member of the sacred 28 herself, Irma had cast aside her maiden name like a bad egg, and adored her husband for making it so.

But, once Walburga saw the small perfect face of her first son she never understood how a mother, how _her_ mother, had loved her husband more than her children. Because while Walburga cared for Orion, _surely_ , she certainly didn't love him. Not in this capacity. Not in the capacity that a mother loves her child. No, impossible. She would have _died_ for this child, but she'd never have died for Orion.

Their match had been made at birth, or rather Orion's birth as he was four years her junior. Walburga had really no choice in the matter, not that she would have chosen differently. It was a great honor to marry a fellow Black, to keep the line of their family pure. But that didn't mean she loved the man. She enjoyed his company at times, yes. She thought highly of him, respected him, honored him, but she never felt that burning desire she'd heard other women describe of their lovers.

Perhaps that is why it took so long for the couple to conceive. Their first child was birthed nearly twelve years after their nuptials, a fact that became quite the scandal among other pure blood families. Rumors had flown all throughout Walburga's pregnancy that she'd strayed, that the child was fathered by another. But once the child was born, there was no mistaking how pure and untainted his blood was. He was the very image of perfect Black family genes.

Sirius was a rambunctious child, yet a very loving one. He'd cling to her all night if she let him, and she _would_ let him because she loved him so, and she knew all too well what it was to be left in a cold dark crib, alone and unloved. His small body would lay curled into her all night long, her plump breast laying readily available on the bed next to him as he'd search in his sleep for Mummy, for milk, for that undeniable love of mother to child. She couldn't bear his cries, his small precious face contorting in misery. She would hold him and shush him and give him anything he'd want. Looking back years later, she thought perhaps she had loved him too much, she'd spoiled him allowing him to think the world revolved around him. Why else would he abandon her as he did at the first sign of resistance to his...unconventional life choices?

Regulus was different. Where Sirius was a rambunctious child, Regulus was obedient and reserved. Sirius would run through the house shouting and singing and spinning and laughing and Regulus would watch it all with curious, watchful eyes while playing quietly with blocks in the corner. Where Sirius wailed through the night, clinging to Mummy, Regulus slept soundly in his crib, never giving a fuss that he was being left alone...it seemed he preferred it that way. And while Regulus seemed an easier child, a more mindful and well behaved child; Walburga couldn't help but prefer Sirius's chaos. He had a fire inside him, a fire that Walburga felt inside herself at times, a fire that had been snuffed out long ago. But in Sirius, she sought to stoke that fire, for in him she saw a future great wizard. The kind of wizard who would change the world. Regulus would make a great follower, but Sirius… Sirius would make a great leader.

She'd cried herself blind the day Sirius left for Hogwarts. Not on the platform of course. On the platform when the train whistle blew she'd given him a stiff hug and a pat on the head all the while glancing around at the Malfoys and the Prewetts, making sure she was seen in her majestic robes, her crisp hair, the perfect example of pureblooded superiority, for she was their queen and she knew it and they knew it. It was all she could do to keep it together until she arrived back home and barricaded herself in Sirius's bedroom with the bed he never actually slept in, for even at eleven the boy still slept with her. Regulus had tried, the poor dear, to comfort her. He'd curled up on her lap in the same way Sirius would do, and for a moment Walburga had closed her eyes and imagined her second son as her first, and then she hated herself for that.

Late that night they'd received the customary owl from Hogwarts, informing the parents which house their child had been sorted into. Walburga barely mustered the energy to read the damn letter, for she knew, she _knew,_ that her child, her dear sweet Sirius, the boy who shared her face and her heart would be sorted into nowhere but her own house, the house Orion had been in as well, the house of her fathers. But a strange coldness drew over her when she read those words scripted by Minerva McGonagal:

 _We're proud to welcome your son, Sirius Orion Black, into Gryffindor House._

"It's not the end of the world, my dear," Orion had tried to reason as Walburga raged and cried in disbelief. "My own mother was in Hufflepuff, you know. It really makes no difference."

But it did make a difference. It did! She just didn't understand how this was possible. The purest blood that ran in her veins and Orion's veins (for it doesn't get much purer than two Blacks, does it?) How could that blood not be in Slytherin House? Oh, what would the other families say? What would her father say? Her mother? They'd always favored the boy, but now? Now what would they do?

"There are many pureblood families to come out of Gryffindor," Orion had tried again but Walburga could not help glaring at her husband. It was, as he'd pointed out, his mother's fault. A Hufflepuff, gah. Sure, she was pure blooded, as a McMillan she could trace her bloodline back to Helga Hufflepuff herself...but what did that matter? Everyone knew Hufflepuff house was for the rejects, mudbloods and blood traitors. Perhaps Gryffindor was better then. At least her boy was not sorted into Hufflepuff. Talk about a disaster.

Once she calmed down enough, she sat down to pen a letter to Sirius.

 _Dear Sirius,_

 _I've received the owl with news of your sorting. I know you must be disappointed. Just remember that it is not the house you were sorted into that defines you but your character and your actions. You are of good and noble blood and I know you will excel at school in every way. Keep your chin up and work hard and you will make Gryffindor proud. I love you always._

 _Your mother_

Walburga expected a letter back on the morrow but did not receive one for weeks, despite the fact that she wrote to him daily. When she finally did receive an owl she was woefully disappointed by the letter's brevity.

 _Mother,_

 _School is going well. I've made several friends already and am doing well in my lessons. Give Father my love and tell Regulus to stay out of my room!_

 _Much love,_

 _Sirius_

Walburga read the letter over and over, trying to read between the lines.  
"He's just busy," Orion had assured her. "You remember what Hogwarts was like at the beginning. Between lessons and homework and making new friends... There's hardly enough time to eat let alone write to his parents."

But Walburga remembered Hogwarts differently, especially that first year. It had been hard for her to leave home. She'd written to her family twice a day, even though her mother's letters were as sparse as Sirius's. But her brother Alphard wrote back to her religiously. And Cygnus too, though his letters were less pleasant. Walburga didn't make friends easily. She had admirers, yes. She had been an attractive girl and with her blood status and family wealth, she was often surrounded by fellow Slytherins trying to integrate into her favor, but she hadn't had many who she thought of as true friends. Naturally, she worried Sirius would have the same problems.

She was wrong.

Sirius had no trouble making _true_ friends.

The letters to come over the following year, few and far between as they were, came riddled with the names James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

Walburga knew the Potters. They were pure blood and distantly related. Though not one of the sacred 28, there were no muggles in their contemporary family (Walburga had checked). Though she didn't approve of the family's history of promoting muggle rights, she was willing to allow Sirius to go to their home for a few weeks over the summer between first and second year. Sirius had begged her, and she never was good at saying no to him.

But, the following summer she had to draw the line with the Lupins.

"Why does it matter that his mum's a muggle?" Sirius had protested, his chin jutting out in a way she found particularly adorable.

Walburga had sighed. "Sirius, we've been over this. Muggles aren't like us. They are dangerous. They either hate magic and want to persecute it, or they want to steal it and use it as their own. They can't be trusted."

"But, it's Remus's mum. She wouldn't do those things."

Walburga tapped her foot impatiently. "Who's to say what Remus's mum will or won't do? Sure, she might be alright, but what if one of her muggle friends comes to call, or another muggle family member? No, Sirius, I just don't feel comfortable with it."

"But Mum! I want to go!"

"I know you want to go. How about this, poppet. Owl your friends and ask them to come here for the week."

"Here?" Sirius had looked around the drawing room distastefully, eying her china cabinet that was full of her ancestor's relics… some of which were admittedly sinister looking, but they were antiques for crying out loud.

"Yes, here! Unless you'd prefer you didn't see them at all?"

"Oh, fine," Sirius agreed, and the next day her house had an additional three boys running around, laughing, shouting, spinning. Poor Regulus didn't know what to do. The boys were kind to him, allowing him to play in their games, but Regulus wasn't the loud and silly type. She soon found him barricaded in his own room reading a book and asking to be left alone.

But the other boys, Merlin, they were a handful.

Walburga and Orion had long ago agreed that the banning of magic done at home by children to be barbaric, muggle-loving bahavior and rightly chose to ignore it completely. Once Sirius divulged this information to his mates, they took full advantage, hexing and cursing each other constantly. Walburga was repeatedly asked to mend broken limbs, cuts and bruises, correct spells gone wrong, and was constantly repairing dismantled objects. Growing tired of picking up fallen tapestries and portraits she placed permanent sticking charms on everything.  
Despite their insane behavior, the boys proved to be a talented bunch. The Potter boy had a mischief streak that matched that of her own son and together their minds would cook up the most preposterous plans. And despite the fact that Pettigrew was clearly less adept with magic, he served as a great cheerleader to the other three and Walburga approved of anyone who worshiped Sirius as much as she did.

The half-blood Lupin boy was a bit shy, more cautious, but immensely polite. Walburga became very concerned upon meeting him and seeing his malnourished appearance coupled with the obvious scars the boy sought to hid. She became quite convinced that the boy's barbaric muggle mother was punishing him for using magic. Walburga owled the ministry at once, voicing her concerns. When Sirius learned of this, he was furious.

And so the years passed. Regulus went away to school, was sorted into Slytherin and became the student that every pureblood mother would be proud of. Meanwhile, Sirius got wilder and wilder. Letter after letter was sent home informing the Blacks of their eldest son's disobedience. However, it was hard to become angry when in the same letter Minerva McGonagal would cite the child's numerous achievements. It was a fact that Sirius was a rather brilliant student and wizard. Top marks in every subject, the winner of several inter school awards...so what if he cursed a halfblood or two in the hallway? Walburga and Orion were so very proud of their dear son. They expected great things of him.

It wasn't until the summer between Sirius's fifth and sixth year that everything went downhill. He was becoming more and more withdrawn, spending day after day in muggle London, coming home late at night and spending hours in his room.

One afternoon he had forgotten to lock his bedroom door and Walburga had discovered that he'd stuck vulgar muggle posters to his wall. She didn't know which was more appalling; the nudity or the motorbikes.

Orion assured her it was just teenage behavior. "Boys will be boys," and all that rubbish.

"Talk to him, Orion," Walburga had begged. "He won't listen to me. I'm afraid he's spending time with the muggle youths who live down the way. What if something happens to him?"

Walburga detested muggles. It wasn't just that she'd been taught to fear them all her life, it was more than that. The seventies brought change to their quiet, predominately wizard neighborhood in London. The muggles invaded their apartment buildings, houses and shops, with their loud thumping music and their vrooming electronics; their disruptive automobiles that spouted noxious gasses and shrieking horns. They were always calling on their house, trying to sell things or else asking to use the fellyphone (whatever that was). Orion had finally put a series of enchantments on the house to keep muggles out. But it wasn't enough. Now her own son was out _consorting_ with them.

"Son, I understand you want to experiment," Walburga had overheard Orion and Sirius talking one night. "Trust me, I felt the same when I was your age. But while muggles are okay for a diddle here and there, don't go getting into trouble with one."

But Sirius wouldn't listen. He kept going out, kept up that hideous obsession with muggle motorbikes. Walburga was growing more and more anxious.

Then, one afternoon Walburga had come home early from shopping in Diagon Alley, and felt that something was off about her house. It was in the air, a stench that she couldn't place. Walburga always felt she had a sixth sense for muggles and mudbloods. She could always tell. There was different scent about them, you see. A smell or an aura. She felt it that afternoon when she walked inside her house.

"Hello," she called. The house was supposed to be empty. Orion had taken the boys to a quidditch match in Manchester. They weren't due back until evening.

She ascended the stairs, her shopping bags still in hand. As she rose to the top level she heard alarming noises coming from Sirius's bedroom. Her blood ran cold as a high pitched giggle pierced the quiet landing followed by a low groan.

Walburga doesn't quire remember what happened next. Somehow she found herself with her wand in her hand, a blond muggle girl shrieking as Sirius shouted at her to _stop, stop, get out_! But she wouldn't get out. Her son. _Her son_ , defiling himself with this filth.

Her wand flashed and spun and the muggle girl was obliviated, before being shoved into her filthy clothing and thrown out the door. Walburga rounded on her son, who was still struggling into his trousers.

"How _dare_ you!" she shouted. "Breeding with that filthy, disgusting little muggle. In my father's house! You've defiled yourself, you've defiled your family name!"

"I don't give a damn about my family name!" Sirius had gone for his wand, but Walburga blasted it away.

"FILTH!" she shrieked, drowning him out. "DISGUSTING, FILTHY LITTLE BLOOD TRAITER!" She wailed and moaned, tears flowed down her cheeks. "My son, my firstborn son, my favorite. I've known all along that you didn't share my beliefs in blood status, but this? THIS? I knew you wouldn't want to marry the Parkinson girl, I made peace with the fact that you might want to marry a halfblood, but THIS? Why, Sirius? WHY?"

She grabbed great clumps of her hair and pulled, her eyes were streaming and her heart pounding. Her world had been upturned. She looked at her son as if seeing him for the first time. He stared back defiantly and that spark, that fire that she used to love, seemed to mock her.

The fight that ensued was the worst of her life. She was a talented witch herself, but even at sixteen she was no match for her son. Soon he'd disarmed her and was fleeing the house.

Though she didn't know it at the time, it was the last time she'd see her dear firstborn son.

Of coursed he'd gone to the Potters's and after a fortnight and he hadn't yet returned, Walburga mustered her courage and called on the Potter residence.

A house elf met her at the door and she was shown to a very handsome parlor. The Potters lived in Godric's Hallow, an ancient wizarding village that was home to Godric Gryffindor himself. Proud Gryffindors as the Potters were, Walburga was unsure if she and Euphemia would see eye to eye but Potter's mother seemed to empathize with her situation.

"How would you feel," Walburga had said tearfully, dabbing at her eyes. "If your only son were to bed a muggle?"

Euphemia had nodded sympathetically.

"Orion says it's just a phase. That we shouldn't worry. He'll settle down with a witch someday. But I –" and here Walburga let out a tremendous sob. "I just wish he'd come home. I wish he'd at least see me. I fear I… I said some things I regret saying."  
Euphemia had been gentle but firm. "He needs time. You'll only push him away if you try to force him to see your point of view. Things aren't as they used to be, Walburga. Children have minds of their own. And with the rise of this Dark Lord everyone is talking about… there isn't room for shades of gray anymore. You either support him or you don't."

"I-how does this have anything to do with the Dark Lord?" Walburga had said, a coldness coming over her. "I just want my son back."  
"It has everything to do with the dark lord, don't you see? He is advocating for the purity of wizarding blood. Sound familiar?"

"How dare you!" Walburga said, scandalized. "My family's beliefs in blood purity have nothing to do with exterminating muggles, and everything to do with upholding wizarding tradition."

"They have become one in the same," Euphemia said calmly.

Walburga's eyes burned, and this time not from tears. She thought of the muggles she detested, the ones who's gunshots were heard up and down her street at all hours, the ones who killed each other over wealth and drugs and possessions, the same ones who would burn her at the stake or enslave her for profit. She hated them. She did. And if that meant she supported Lord Voldemort then so be it.

"It seems we have nothing more to discuss," Walburga said, standing up. She reached into her purse and withdrew a letter. "If you would be so kind as to see that Sirius reads this. I won't come calling again."

With that, Walburga left. She never was sure if Sirius had read her letter or not.

The next few years were very hard for Walburga. Without her firstborn son, she poured herself into Regulus, making up for all the time she hadn't favored him.

Meanwhile, Lord Voldemort was gaining more and more power. Walburga began following his movements obsessively, listening raptly to his speeches and cutting out articles from the Daily Prophet. Though he now went by another name, Walburga knew the man who called himself the Dark Lord. She knew him by another name, the name of his filthly muggle father he had so detested. Tom Riddle had been a year under her at Hogwarts. He was known by all, and being of the most noble wizarding house, Riddle had had a particular interest in the young and beautiful Walburga Black. It is true that he had once sought her favor, and though she had turned him down, gently insisting she was to wed Orion, she never forgot the way handsome young Tom Riddle had given her that respect and admiration. And so it was she who had helped him uncover his true ancestry, that of the noble Gaunts, direct descendents of Salazar Slytherin. No one at Hogwarts was more well versed in wizarding ancestry than Walburga Black and upon hearing his middle name, Marvolo, she immediate recognized him for who he was.

And it was she also who helped him discover the key to immortality. A fact that she had disclosed to her second son a year later.

She supported the Dark Lord fully as he rose to power and had encouraged her remaining son to take up arms with the rest of the pure blood families in joining his ranks. Thus when he came home with the Dark Mark stamped on his forearm Walburga had wept with pride. However, as the months went by and Regulus started coming home withdrawn, haunted, and afraid, Walburga became quite alarmed. It seemed the lengths Tom Riddle was going to gain power were further than she and Orion had predicted.

It was only a year later that Regulus had gone missing. People were disappearing all the time at this point. Lord Voldemort and his followers were cleansing wizard society, and while Walburga thought he was right to do so, she never thought that would include her own son. By this time, rumors of the Dark Lord's tactics had become quite frightening.

Out of desperation she wrote to Sirius. _Please_ she'd begged, _help me find out the fate of your brother._ After some time, Sirius had indeed written her back, gruesomely describing what he'd learned.

 _Mother,_

 _Through my connections with the resistance against Lord Voldemort I have discovered that Regulus had been given a very challenging task and according to those who last spoke to him, he had shown signs of abandoning his task and fleeing. As one can deduce from that information, had he done so Lord Voldemort would not have been merciful. I fear Regulus was murdered when he failed his master._

 _My condolences,_

 _Sirius_

This news had been devastating to Walburga, but it was nothing to how Orion had reacted. Walburga had failed to notice that while Sirius had always been her favorite son, Regulus had very clearly been Orion's. A week after it was confirmed that Regulus had indeed been murdered, Orion cast every defensive spell he knew on the Black family house, instructed Kreacher to cast his own brands of magic to protect the house, then left. Walburga, too busy wallowing in her own self pity at the loss of both of her sons, didn't notice that he'd left until well after he'd gone. She found his letter much later.

 _Dearest Walburga,_

 _Please forgive me, for I have gone to avenge our son's death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. I do not expect to live through the encounter for I fear Tom Riddle has now become unchallengeable, but for the sake of our son, for both our sons, I have to try. I was willing to look the other way while that filthy half-blood with his muggle name came to power, but he has gone too far. To murder one of the Blacks is to wage war on our house. I have enchanted our home so you will remain safe in my wake. Do not mourn me. I will see you again in the afterlife._

 _Orion_

And so it was that Walburga was left alone.

And she'd been alone ever since.

"Kreacher," she called again as she opens her yellowing gray eyes.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Bring me my looking glass."


End file.
